Colour Me Lonely
by Arhuaine
Summary: Nerdanel mourns the family she lost when they returned to Middle earth, and finds comfort in the company of Anaire. Rated for implied ff slash.


Colour Me Lonely

How quiet the house seems now! Even after all this time I am still uncomfortable with the silence and it occurs to me that never, until now, have I lived alone. In truth it is not my husband that I miss. He was lost to me long before he left Valinor, and I grew accustomed to sleeping in our bed alone at night. I lost count of the times I wept quietly, holding just his pillow, and wishing that he would come home and we could be a family again.

That hope was shattered when he took my sons away from me.

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"Have you been crying again, Nerdanya?" Mahtan asked.

I looked up as my father sat down beside me, his face tense with worry. He put his arms around my shoulders and I nodded, rubbing at my face with my sleeve. "I'm alright, atar," I replied, forcing myself to smile.

"You don't look alright, you're tired. And you don't eat properly."

Again I nodded. "I don't sleep well now. I miss my sons," I said quietly. I looked at my father and I saw my sons in him. Maitimo's rich auburn hair. Ambarussa's sparkling grey eyes. Macalaur's gentle smile. "It is lonely here now."

He leaned over and kissed my hair, saying nothing. I thought of how my father had counselled me against my marriage to Fëanáro and I in my youth had chosen to follow my heart and defied his advice. I wished, now, that I had listened to my father in the first place. "You were right, you know," I continued, "when you said that Fëanáro would bring nothing but trouble."

"I am not going to say I told you so," Mahtan said, tapping my nose with his finger like he used to do when I was an elfling. "But, I told you so."

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It was some comfort I found, in those years, in the company of Anairë whose husband and children had followed mine into the east. Her house in Tirion, like mine, echoed with empty silence in rooms too big for one.

"Why don't you move in with me?" I suggested to her one day as we sat in her garden amidst her fragrant flowers.

She looked at me, surprised. "Oh, I don't think I could..."

"Why not? I have plenty of space, and I know that you are as lonely as I am, here on your own."

Anairë sipped at her wine. "I won't deny that," she said. "But suppose they come back, and I'm not here?" Her dark eyes were wide with worry.

"Then the second place they will think to look is in my house," I replied, but though I tried to be light-hearted, tears sprung to my eyes. I reached across the table to clutch her hand, and I shook my head.

"They're not coming back, are they?"

"No, Anairë. I don't think they are."

She started to weep then, and she put down her glass for fear of spilling it. "I always tried to keep some hope. I imagine sometimes that Nolo is still here."

I took Anairë into my arms and I shed my tears for my lost family onto her shoulder, as she shed tears for hers onto mine. "Hush, Anairë. You are not alone. You need never be alone."

"You are a precious friend, Nerdanel," she replied, squeezing my hand. "Thankyou."

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And so Anairë moved in to my house as I had suggested, and our ancient friendship grew stronger in our shared grief. We worked together, I with my sculptures and she with her paintings, and we spoke often of our children, in reminiscence, remembering happier times and trying hard to forget the events that had estranged us from them. I found comfort in her quiet presence and we became as close as sisters. She even took to calling Mahtan her 'atar'.

"Have you ever considered marrying again?" I asked her one day as I sat for a portrait.

She gave a surprised cough and lay down her paintbrush. "Nerdanel! How could you suggest such a thing?"

I shrugged and smiled. "I would, if there were any left in Valinor worth marrying."

Anairë picked up her brush again and changed the subject. "Hold still, Nerdanel. How can I paint you if you keep fidgeting?"

"Now you are being evasive," I replied. "Would you?" I repeated.

"It is easy for you to say," she replied, stabbing at her palette with the brush. "It's no secret that you lost Fëanáro long before he sailed East."

I nodded. It was true. Though I had loved him to the end and I knew that he had loved me, our marriage had failed in all ways save for seven; our beautiful sons. I had learned early in our marriage that two such as ourselves could not live comfortably together for long without sparks flying. Fëanáro had been a passionate soul, some said obsessive, and towards the end I found that the scope of his obsession left little room for me.

Anairë looked at me curiously. "Surely you are not yearning for more children?"

"Perhaps a little," I replied with a sigh. "I always hoped for a daughter." I got up and came around to look at her painting. She had painted me in bright colours, with fiery hair. "I think what I yearn for the most, is just someone to hold at night, in place of Fëanáro's pillow.

Anairë blushed and looked away, her cheeks turning bright crimson. "I suppose... yes..." she whispered. "There can be no harm in that..." She stood on tiptoe and kissed me quickly on the cheek.

The kiss reminded me of Maitimo, and Anair's eldest son Findekáno. I had long known the depth of their friendship and never condemned them for it. "Anairë," I whispered, "I no longer care what is right or wrong any more. I do not want to sleep alone tonight."

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My house is still quiet but it is the quiet of peace now, and not of lonely silence. My father says nothing but I can tell that he knows, and he lets us be, just as I knew about Maitimo, and let him be. There is no need for anything more to be said.


End file.
